Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
Keane
I don’t know why I’m here. Picnics have never been my thing. Hiking up a trail, eating a sandwich with one hand while taking in the view at the summit—that made sense. But sitting on a blanket, carefully unpacking lunch, and making small talk? That’s foreign territory.
Still, I agreed to lunch with Julianna and Rayne this afternoon.
Rayne is sprawled on a picnic blanket near the edge of the yard, her crayons scattered like drops of color on the grass. She’s bent over her drawing, her tongue poking out slightly as she concentrates on a rabbit holding a kite. There’s a smear of blue across her cheek that she hasn’t noticed, and I can’t bring myself to tell her—it suits her in a way that makes me smile.
Julianna sits cross-legged beside her, sipping iced tea and laughing softly at something Rayne just said. Her hair is pulled back into a loose braid, and she’s wearing a sundress that brushes against her knees when the breeze moves through the yard.
I’m leaning against the porch railing, watching them. Telling myself I’m here because Julianna invited me for lunch earlier, but that’s not the full story. The truth is, I’ve found myself coming over more and more often.
There’s something about being here, with them, that feels . . . like I don’t have to keep running.
It’s strange to admit. Here, watching Julianna lean over to help Rayne pick a new color, hearing their soft laughter, I feel something I haven’t felt in a long time.
Hope.
Maybe even happiness.
Julie looks up and catches me staring. Her smile is warm, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, and it does something to me I can’t quite explain.
“Come sit,” she says, gesturing to the empty spot on the blanket.
I hesitate for a moment, but then I push off the railing and walk toward them, feeling like a guest in a world I’m not sure I belong in. I lower myself onto the blanket, the grass cool beneath the fabric, and Julianna hands me a sandwich wrapped neatly in parchment paper.
“Rayne made the menu,” she says with a playful smile.
Rayne beams, holding up her drawing for me to see. “What do you think?” she asks, her voice eager.
“It’s great,” I say, studying the rabbit soaring through a sky filled with colorful scribbles. “Looks like he’s having a pretty good day.”
She giggles, her eyes bright as she adds more details to the kite string.
Julianna passes me a glass of iced tea, her fingers brushing mine for a moment. It’s nothing, just a small gesture, but it lingers in a way that makes me feel rooted in the moment.
We eat in comfortable quiet, the sounds of the yard filling the spaces between bites—the soft rustle of leaves, the occasional chirp of a bird.
“This is nice,” I say finally, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
Julianna glances at me. “It is,” she agrees, her voice carrying a note of nostalgia. “I remember when Mom and Dad used to organize picnics or camping trips in our backyard. They’d set up a tent, cook on a little portable stove, the whole thing. Oscar and I loved it. Elena, not so much,” she whispers the last few words.
“Oscar is?” I ask, frowning slightly as I try to remember if she’s ever mentioned him before.
“My brother,” she responds. “He travels a lot, so he hasn’t been around much.”
“And Nydia is your cousin, right?” I ask, piecing it together from something Rowan had mentioned the other day on the phone.
She nods, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face.
Julianna hesitates for a moment, her fingers tracing the rim of her iced tea glass. “Are you close to your . . . family?” she asks, her voice careful, like she’s testing the waters. She doesn’t want to pry, but there’s curiosity there.
I take a moment to answer, my gaze drifting to the blanket where Rayne is still engrossed in her drawing. “My brother and I are working on that,” I say finally, my words measured. Then, after a beat, I add, “My parents died a few years ago.”
Julianna’s expression shifts, her eyes softening they glance at the lake. “I’m sorry,” she says gently.
I nod, acknowledging the sentiment but not fully engaging with it. If she wanted to, she could look me up and find out about my life. The raise, the fall, the accident. How my parents died years after I . . . supposedly died. Yeah, there’s that too, the world believed I’m dead.
Maybe that’s why no one recognizes me, because even when I look familiar, why would they assume I’m him? Keane Stone is dead. His funeral was broadcasted on national television. No one’s expecting to see him wandering around a small town like Luna Harbor.
I shift slightly, trying to find my comfort again. Once I do, I clear my throat as I push those thoughts aside. “What about you?” I ask, redirecting the conversation. “Are you close to your family?”
Julianna’s gaze flickers, her fingers resuming their idle tracing of the glass. “It’s complicated,” she admits, her voice quieter now. “I mean, like I said, Oscar is always away. Dad and I are trying to mend our relationship.”
The atmosphere is thick, but thankfully, Rayne interrupts the moment with a triumphant shout, holding up her drawing for us to see. “Look. I finished it,” she says, her voice filled with pride.
Julianna’s face lights up, her smile warm and genuine as she leans forward to admire the picture. “Wow, Rayne. That’s amazing. Look at the little bunny’s ears—they’re perfect.”
Rayne beams.
“That’s . . . pretty awesome,” I say, and I mean it. “Fufu Floppy looks like he’s living his best life, flying a kite with their new friend.”
Rayne’s lips twitch into a small smile, and she ducks her head, pretending to focus on her drawing. But I catch the way her grip on the crayon loosens just slightly, her shoulders relaxing.
“She’s been obsessed with kites ever since you fixed hers,” Julianna says, her voice warm, teasing. “I think you might’ve created a monster.”
“Could be worse,” I reply, settling onto the blanket beside them. “At least it’s a wholesome obsession. We should probably get her a new kite though . . . something bigger, maybe shaped like an animal or something fun.”
Rayne’s head snaps up, her glare nearly setting me on fire. “But that’s not the one Mommy bought,” she declares.
“No, it’s not,” I agree, keeping my voice gentle. “But we don’t want that one to break again, do we?” I give her a tentative smile, silently pleading for her to see reason.
She squints at me, as if she’s weighing my argument. Finally, she huffs. “Fine. But it has to be pretty. Like a butterfly.”
“Done,” I say with a grin, relief washing over me. “We’ll find the prettiest butterfly kite in existence and have it here by tomorrow.”
“If you do,” Julianna chimes in, her gaze soft as she looks at Rayne, “we could try flying it again tomorrow. What do you think?”
Rayne’s eyes light up, and she nods eagerly. “Okay.”
“Then it’s a date,” I confirm, already wondering if Rowan can work his connections to make this kite thing happen in record time. It’s not like philanthropy is limited to soup kitchens, right? Supporting butterfly kite dreams seems just as important.
The conversation drifts as Rayne focuses on her drawing, the crayons moving quickly across the page. Julianna starts telling a story about one of her “yoga fails,” complete with dramatic hand gestures and an uncanny ability to mimic the sound of a collapsing yoga block.
Rayne giggles first, soft at first but quickly bubbling over. The sound is infectious, and before I know it, I’m laughing too.
“I can’t believe you tried a handstand in the middle of a crowded park,” I say, shaking my head. “What were you thinking?”
“That I could do it,” she says, grinning. “Spoiler alert: I couldn’t. I was just beginning my yoga journey.”
“Keane, can you help me?” Rayne asks, breaking the moment. She holds up her picture, pointing to the butterfly. “I’m not sure how to draw a pretty one.”
I take the crayon from her and start untangling the mess she’s made of the drawing, my hands moving carefully so I don’t smudge the rest of her work.
“You’re good at that,” Julianna says, watching me.
“It’s one of the things I used to do when my parents needed me to entertain myself,” I state, hoping there are no further questions.
We spend the rest of the afternoon like that, talking and laughing. By the time the sun starts dipping below the horizon, the air has cooled, and Rayne is curled up on the blanket, fast asleep with her bunny tucked under her arm.
Julie looks at her, a mix of love and exhaustion on her face. “She’s had a big day,” she says softly.
“So have you,” I reply, standing and stretching. “Need help carrying her inside?”
She hesitates, then nods. “That . . . would be great. Thanks.”
I scoop Rayne up carefully, cradling her small frame against my chest. She stirs slightly, her face pressing into my shoulder, a soft sigh escaping her lips, but she doesn’t wake. Her weight feels unfamiliar in my arms, a reminder of just how small she is, how much she’s been through.
Julianna leads the way up the stairs, her steps quiet, glancing back occasionally to make sure I’m managing. Rayne doesn’t so much as twitch as we reach the landing, her room at the end of the hallway. Julianna pushes the door open, stepping inside and pulling back the covers on the small bed we set up just a week ago.
I lower Rayne onto the mattress as gently as I can, her body slack with sleep. Julianna tucks the bunny beside her, smoothing the blanket over Rayne’s shoulders. Then, she brushes a strand of hair from Rayne’s forehead, her hand lingering just long enough to make my chest ache. I stand there awkwardly, feeling like an intruder in a moment that’s not mine to share.
Once Julie is sure Rayne is fast asleep, she heads outside the room where I join her.
“Thank you,” she whispers, turning to face me.
“Anytime,” I murmur.
We’re too close, and I know it. Her eyes meet mine, wide and searching, and the air between us feels electric, charged with everything we’ve left unsaid. There’s a flicker of hesitation in her gaze, like she’s caught between stepping back and leaning in. I can’t tell which one I want her to choose.
The tension crackles, palpable, as her eyes drop briefly to my mouth, a movement so quick I might have imagined it. My pulse kicks up, and I lean forward slightly—barely—but it’s enough to feel the faint warmth of her presence. Her breathing hitches, and so does mine, the space between us shrinking with every second.
Her hand twitches, like she’s about to reach for something—me, maybe—but she doesn’t. Instead, her lips part, her gaze flicking back to mine, and for a moment, everything around us disappears. It’s just her and me, suspended in this precarious, magnetic pull that feels impossible to fight.
I can’t help it. My hand moves, brushing lightly against her arm, and she freezes. A faint sound escapes from Rayne, a tiny murmur comes from her room. Julianna steps back instinctively, the moment splintering like glass, and her eyes dart away from mine.
I clear my throat, forcing myself to move, to step back into the hallway. “I should go,” I say, the words rough, jagged, as they leave my throat.
She nods, her expression carefully neutral, though the tension lingers in the air. “Goodnight, and thank you again.”
“Goodnight,” I reply, turning and heading for the stairs before I lose whatever restraint I still have.